Overshadowed
by BeastRage the Hunter
Summary: Kozmotis Pitchiner hunts the Nightmare King in a forgotten labyrinth. Time travel.
1. Over

Only one light graced these long forgotten damp tunnels. A light in the hands of Kozmotis Pitchiner. Every once in a while water would trickle down on top of him, only to be quickly shaken off.

Kozmotis gritted his teeth. A stupid idea, to go into a Fearling's territory to hunt it down. Well, it hadn't been like he had many other options here, with a Fearling on the loose. Usually he didn't have to deal with tracking and so forth in Fearling hunting. The proud beasts always raced out of their lairs like angry bees after intruders when a hunter (or anyone else, for that matter) stepped inside.

This Fearling was different. Behaved differently. Locally it was called the 'Nightmare King', of all things. Certainly fit in with a typical Fearling's arrogant pride. But unlike other Fearlings, it didn't rush out when he and his men located its lair. Instead, it let them wander its caves without much response at all. At first.

Kozmotis wasn't sure exactly when the first of his men disappeared. Only that it had, and when he noticed, he ordered the rest to watch each others' backs, to avoid getting picked off.

It hadn't worked. No matter how carefully they all watched, inevitably there would be another one missing. One by one, until he was alone, in the darkness.

The General hoped, against all odds, that this 'Nightmare King' had far more ego than hunger, enough ego to spare his men to gloat over them instead of devouring them. Being devoured by a Fearling was a horrible way to die, he had seen it far too many times. The chance of their survival was less than slim but still he hoped.

Such is the nature of hope.

"Hello General." Kozmotis tensed at the sudden words seemingly out of nowhere. The voice echoed through the tunnel, lacking the hiss most Fearlings spoke in and sounding strangely familiar.

His hand shot to his sword hilt, enjoying the feel of hard starsteel. "What have you done to my men, Fearling?"

Rich deep laughter seemed to come from everywhere at once. "How very typical. No need to fear for them, I assure you." Shadows deepened, darkened. "There is, however, every reason for _you_ to fear." The light flickered, darkness almost alive in its dancing movements. Complete and total, the black closed in around the lone figure.

Kozmotis laughed.

A loud bright sound that drove the dark shrinking back like a frightened dog. "You'll have to try harder than that, Nightmare King. You're not the first Fearling I've faced."

The voice spoke again, somewhat smug. "I thought as much. Your fame in the Army has spread. A man like you isn't afraid of the dark or even what hides in it. No, a man like you..." The next words hissed into his ear, a mere whisper. Kozmotis almost jumped. How had the Fearling gotten so close without his realizing it? "...fears for others. Fears for loved ones. A mother and a daughter, perhaps? What would happen if one of your many enemies paid them a visit while you were on some important mission? Gone in a flash, nothing left to go home to."

The General frowned, unable to fully suppress the shiver now running down his spine. What kind of Fearling could so easily pick its way past the mind's defenses, to find your deepest fears to use against you? All Fearlings could in some degree, but none before had done anything more than take a form of some awful beast. None had spoken his fears so clearly before.

Only a powerful, ancient Fearling could have built up enough power to do so. Such a Fearling would have long ago acted against the light of the Golden Age if not prevented from doing so somehow.

"Who fought you before?"

Shadows rippled. "What does it matter?"

"Anyone fighting darkness is my concern," Kozmotis said evenly. "Now, tell me, Fearling, what were their names? Surely it cannot take much effort to recall those who defy such a mighty king."

He asked on two factors that _could_ win him a truthful answer. Flattery to the creature's ego and the fact that the 'Nightmare King' was probably self-aware enough to remember more than past meals.

A snort. "If you care so much, they called themselves the _Guardians_." Deep hatred taints the word.

 _Called?_ Kozmotis's heart sank. Whoever these 'Guardians' were, the past tense the creature spoke of them in was not a good sign for them. "You killed them."

"Me?" Another laugh. "No, never, no matter how hard I tried. But now they just don't exist. Not now."

Something moved behind him. He whirled around, only to see nothing. Nothing but darkened tunnel.

"Careful, _General,"_ The Fearling mocked. "One might think you are... _afraid."_ The light flickered again and Kozmotis suddenly had the feeling there was more down here than just him and a lone Fearling. Was that...nickering?

"Show yourself." He drew his blade, silver metal gleaming.

"As you wish." Someone appeared out of the shadows, gaunt and tall. But one feature in particular caused Kozmotis to stare in horrified shock. The Fearling, the Nightmare King, had his face. Pale, thin, all harsh cheekbones, but still his face. Golden eyes of a predator stare back at him.

It (he?) smiled. "Boo."


	2. Shadowed

It was a good thing that he was used to fighting in the dark. Otherwise Kozmotis would have been helpless the moment the horses surged forward and knocked the light in his hands to the ground, casting shadows everywhere.

The next few minutes were minutes full of hacking and slicing. Every strike turned the creatures to a black powder, crushed underfoot by further reinforcements. Where were they all coming from? And for that matter, how had a Fearling built up such forces without any visible warning given off to the miners?

Unless...it had been waiting for someone to come challenge it. To fight it.

"You share my face, Nightmare King." The General stated. It wasn't a question of any sort. He knew it and the Fearling knew it. "Care to explain?"

A flicker of motion in the corner of his eye. He turned to once more see the Fearling stepping out of the shadows into the flickering light, holding up a hand. In response, its/his beasts instantly quieted, backing off for their master to have his turn.

"Just think, General. Think long and hard." The self-proclaimed Nightmare King stepped closer, eye to eye with Kozmotis. A smirk appeared on his face, fangs clear and visible. "Fear takes many forms, lives many places..." Pale fingers curled into claws, before changing back again. "But one place fear always is, is inside of you."

Golden eyes, the same color as the stars, gleamed, full of satisfaction. "No matter how brave, no matter how strong. You are afraid, _General._ Afraid of how beautiful you find the darkness. Of what you would become if you lost your family. Perhaps, General..." The Nightmare King spread his arms wide. "...I am you. Why fight what hides inside of you, as deep as it is?"

"In your wildest dreams. Or is it _nightmares,_ Nightmare King?" Kozmotis spat back.

His enemy's arms dropped back behind his back. "Very well." If Kozmotis hadn't known better, he would have said there was a trace of disappointment in that cold voice. The Fearling turned around, returning back to the shadows. "You can have him, my Nightmares."

Kozmotis Pitchiner lunged forward, blade slicing at the retreating back. Only for his sword to be blocked by a black scythe. "Tsk, tsk. How very _unherioc_ of you, to stab me in the back." A cold, sharp smile belayed the possible enjoyment at this challenge. "It wouldn't have been too horrible, getting torn apart by Nightmares. For me, at least. Now, I'll be sure to cut you to pieces, _slowly_ and _painfully."_

The scythe cutted close, close enough to leave a thin cut on his nearly identical look-alike's cheek. It would have continued on, to find its way to his throat, but was stopped in place by the man's sword. "You'll have to try harder than that."

The battle that commenced was unlike any other Kozmotis had ever participated in before. Every movement the other made was instantly countered, sparks flying up at the clashing of the blades.

The longer the fight continued, the more the 'Nightmares' grew excited, occasually stepping forward before getting torn apart in the whirling weapons.

At some point, the scythe slipped and his sword slipped through the defenses. Unluckily, the Fearling avoided most of the blow. But there was enough. Black blood dripped onto the stone, cold and inhuman. No matter the face of the creature, it was still only a monster.

The Nightmare King clutched at its side, blood seeping out onto its fingers, golden eyes so round and wide. Silence. Like the world itself was holding its breath. A hand came forward and the Fearling screamed, breaking the silence.

And vanished. Leaving behind its Nightmares to avenge it.

* * *

The Nightmares were easily disposed of, leaving piles of black sand everywhere. With a weary sigh, Kozmotis Pitchiner sheathed his bloodied sword and picked up his light. Lantern bobbing in his grasp as he found his way out. At his feet, dark puddles of blood stank and gleamed, attracting whatever insect-pest inhabited this planet.

The Fearling hadn't lied. His men were unharmed, though clearly confused by whatever forces had led them out of the stony maze to the sky above. When they asked, curious unbecoming of such hardened souls, of what the Fearling had done to him alone in the labyrinth. He said nothing, and eventually they stopped asking, making up their own stories of whatever price their captain had paid.

"Because that's how it works, ye see," Kozmotiz overheard one older sailor explaining to a young cabin boy. "You don't defeat such a beast without a price asked of ye. Yur heart, yur sword...a great price."

If that's so, is sleeping soundly at night his price, his bargain for survival against an ancient monster? The words haunt his dreams, the look on its face responding to the wound in its side. But what keeps him up was the nightmares of his wife and their infant daughter shrieking in some pain or terror. Unable to protect. The cold sweat on his face always reminded Kozmotis that not all battles leave physical wounds. And sometimes, Fearlings leave curses behind.

What other explanation was there for such horrible nightmares, with none other suffering from such and no signs of Fearlings?

He and his soldiers remained in the colony a few extra days, fending off the grateful thanks of miners and admirers alike. The few nights passed peacefully for the inhabitants. No Nightmares. No wild beasts invading once safe homes.

Normal.

So they left, golden ship taking off for the stars, to fight some new battle against the encroaching darkness.

Kozmotis Pitchiner stood at the railing, eyes searching out a star among many, slightly relaxing when he finds it. The star orbiting their homeworld stayed lit. His family was safe.

Passing wrecked ships of less lucky crews, seeing glimmering shooting stars go about their duty. He was going home.

* * *

 _A slim figure unfolds itself from the shadows of an abandoned, shattered ship. It watches as the ship that taken it so far, the General's ship, sails away. The figure of a man._

 _No one ever knew of the hitchhiker that found his way onto their ship, hands clutching at his wound. Now, no one ever will. Perhaps the General will notice some slackening in his nightmares, but the seed for those is planted. The General will never sleep soundly again._

 _Revenge, in return for the gash from the silvery sword that still burned and made him hiss._

 _Eyes take in the tattered sail, the broken bodies still laying about the deck. Damage, but nothing beyond his ability to repair or replace with his shadows. Yes. This ship would do nicely for his purposes._

 _He needs more fear to feast on. More than the pathetic nervous ravings of unimaginative worms._

 _A smile, the first one since the time of his wounding, finds its way on his face. The smile of a fox among the pigeons._

 _Oh, yes. The world, all of the worlds, would learn to fear the name of Pitch Black._

To be continued (in some other fic)


End file.
